Christmas - A time for reflection....and overeating
Oh Christmastime, you sly wench! You snuck up on me yet again!
It is difficult to believe that almost a year has gone by since "Diary of a Spinster Aunt - Yuletide Edition". I have a bit of a soft spot for that particular entry as it was the first to be written as a blog, as opposed to the earlier entries which were originally written and posted as Facebook notes. The first entry of all time was the one-line-plus-photo "Crumble and Nelly", which was written and posted to Facebook on August 12th 2010, less than three weeks after my relationship fell apart and I moved in with Vanessa and Scott. I can't even say exactly what made me post it, but my best guess is that it was probably a combination of the following:
- post breakup psychosis.
- an attempt to find humour in a pretty bleak time.
- my inability to NOT share with someone else when I catch myself doing something as ridiculous as eating crumble straight from the dish while listening/singing along to "Hot in Herre". If you ever catch yourself singing lyrics like "Good gracious ass is bodacious" through a mouthful of crumble and you DON'T tell me about it, I will be really, deeply, disappointed.
That first entry was around 20 words long and was posted somewhat flippantly. If you had told me that it would go on for more than a year and that I would become verbose enough to write almost 2,000 words in one go, I probably would have punched you straight in the nose and called you a filthy liar! After I punched you in the nose I would have leaned over you and counted off the following pieces of airtight logic to prove my point:
1. The idea of writing 2,000 words about my feelings on the internet is completely preposterous!
2. Who in the hell would even read such a thing!?
3. PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTT! As if I'm going to be a spinster for THAT long!
Those first few entries caused quite a few people to object strongly to the word "spinster", most famously my own sister who threatened to fly up from Texas to "whoop my ass" if I continued to use it.
What people didn't perhaps understand right away is that I have used "Spinster" with love and fondness from the first time I wrote it down. Its use, for me, was born from all the people who immediately insisted to me that I would "find someone else", a phrase that is meant well but rubs me the wrong way by the inherent implication that being single is not okay, which is total bologna. I am a firm believer that being single is a thousand times better than being with someone just for the sake of being with someone.
My sister did eventually get on board and embrace my spinsterhood, she even posts my links to her wall(timeline??) on Facebook and will even admit that she finds it pretty funny (from time to time). For those who claim that Diary of a Spinster Aunt is a "pity party", to you I say "why the hell are you reading this?", but I also say this: when I look back through the entries I don't feel even remotely sad or depressed. I look back and see a huge collection of happy memories including Cabo-waiian vacations, birthday parties, the most ridiculous apartment on the planet, a priceless art collection, cruising, romance novels, singing in the car wash, Nancy Drew computer games, weddings, preposterous family photos, crepes, and a cat with a hilarious haircut. The last year and a half has been really hard at times, I won't deny it; But I consider myself lucky to have cried on Vanessa's heated marble floor, because it reminds me that she loved me enough to invite me, without hesitation, to live with her and her husband...for six weeks...twice. Yes, Kimmy moved away to Scotland, and I cried when she left, but when I look at Spinster Forlorn I see one sad memory surrounded by hundreds of happy ones, and I am so grateful to have had those nine months with her.
So, in the spirit of reflection (and because it vaguely fits a Christmas theme), I present to you the Ghosts of Boyfriends Past, Present, and Future (Gay!)
Ghosts of Boyfriends Past
In September I lost a pearl earring. No big deal, right? You can buy those at Winners for like thirty bucks! WRONG. Not about Winners, that part is entirely true, and if you don't have a pair you should go and buy yourself some immediately. Wardrobe staple, seriously. Anyway, back to the story. I lose a pearl earring. I can vividly remember the moment when I realized I could only find one; a feeling of cold dread washed over me, I felt slightly panicked, and then I started muttering "no, no, no, no, no, NO!" as I ransacked my bedroom looking for it. When I realized that I was not going to find it, I sat down on the floor and asked myself why I was freaking out. "Calm down, you crazy bitch!" I said to myself, "you can go on Ebay and replace those immediately and then experience the delayed gratification of receiving them in the mail!!". And I did. I went on ebay and ordered a new pair of pearl earrings...and the anxiety in my chest persisted. What was my problem!? Buying stuff on Ebay always makes me feel better! As I held the one lonely pearl earring in my hand, I had to be honest with myself and accept that the true root of my anxiety was that I had not lost just any pearl earring... I had lost THE pearl earring... that was part of my set of pearls... that was a gift... from my ex...given to me on a particularly blissful Christmas. Shit.
I am not (by any means) the first to assign emotional value to an inanimate object, there is nothing groundbreaking there. What was odd was that I hadn't really spoken to him in months. I had pent up anger toward him that rivaled the anger it took for Justin Timberlake to write the Justified album. I had created and then crushed numerous clay likenesses of him at counselor Pat's office and I was still angry. I even smashed one likeness with a two-handed hammer-fist, a la Captain Kirk, and if that doesn't iron out your feelings I don't know what will. But I digress, where was I? If I so strongly disliked him (hate is such a brutal word), why was I so upset about losing something he gave me? You'd think I would want to throw the whole set out the window, lest it remind me of the disrespect with which I had been treated. But no, rather I was close to tears, clutching one pearl to my chest, trying to convince myself that I was being ridiculous (this is a routine conversation, I assure you). Being angry is easier in many ways than being sad, and I had convinced myself that the "only good thing I got" out of that relationship was that set of pearls, because it was easier than acknowledging the happy memories that went with them. That one lonely pearl opened the proverbial memory flood gates; like most happy memory montages it started with opening the box that contained them, then jumped to him placing them around my neck and doing up the clasp, to wearing them on our anniversary, to the way he would always touch them and say "pretty" every time I wore them.
Finally accepting the existence of some happy memories turned out to be a good thing. Many weeks later I ran into this particular Ghost of Boyfriends Past and he noticed mid-conversation that I was wearing the pearl bracelet he gave me. Out of habit he reached out to touch them. Equally as well conditioned, I placed my wrist in his palm. He didn't say "pretty" like he used to, but when I looked up at his face I could tell that he remembered too, and that it was getting easier for him as well.
In the month of December I have met up with both The Ghosts of Boyfriends Past (how many did you think there was?), and I was pleasantly surprised by how nice it was. There was a time when I thought I would never be able to see either one without feeling a black hole of rejection and sadness, and here I was, catching up and enjoying myself! Such progress on the emotional well-being front!*
Mixed in with all this fun of boyfriends past was a date, that's right A DATE. December was a complete cluster cuss on this front.
Ghost of Boyfriend (read:guy I had coffee with once) Present
So I finally met Mystery M*** , or, to jog your memory, that guy that had to cancel at the last minute back in November, which resulted in me crying alone in my car. That guy. So we finally met, and he was really nice. I tried really hard not to talk about my cat too much, which was challenging because he had adorable puppy stories. I enjoyed meeting him very much, and I think he enjoyed talking to me...until I committed unintentional first date suicide with the following exchange:
Mystery: "...my neighbour's dog, whose name is (*I heard*) Naboo"
Me: excited "Naboo!? Like the planet from Star Wars?!"
Mystery: brow furrows "uhh no, Abu. But why do you know that?"
Me: awkward pause while I flog myself internally "OH! haha, Abu...the monkey... from Aladdin...not Naboo...the planet from Star Wars. Ha ha...ha...oh God".
Needless to say, I haven't heard from him again. Shocking.
The Ghost of Boyfriend Future (Gay Boyfriend!)
My Gay Boyfriend (GB) Bryan is amazing. Every woman, especially the spinsters, should have themselves a GB like my Bryan. He loves me unconditionally, he compliments my looks and my intellect, he writes me poetry, he bakes for me, he crafts me jewelry, he gives me amazing hugs which often feature pick-ups-and-twirls or ballroom dips. He's handsome, he's smart, he's funny, he's kind. Sigh. He would be the perfect man for me, were it not for the fact that he is disgusted by my bits. Once, when reaching across me to get something his hand accidentally grazed my boob and he actually shuddered and said "ewwwwww". Some straight men feel that way too, so I wasn't all that put out.
Bryan once lived with me in Spinster Mansion for a few weeks while he was in between places. Kim was away at the time, so he occupied her room for the duration of his stay. I would come home to find him wearing my cupcake apron and baking me lemon squares, a sight which would make even the most hardened spinster excited.
I love you, Bryan.
Amazing realizations: GB (Gay Boyfriend) + SG (Straight Girlfriend) = BSG (Battle Star Galactica)
Best Gift of the Season
The spinster seal of approval goes to Darren (yes, like the avocado), who sent me a message telling me about the musical stylings of one Riki Lindhome. Long story short, my new dream is to write sarcastic/bitter/hilarious songs with her. Sharing her is my Christmas gift to you. You're welcome!
*This does not in any way mean that I will not get drunk on Christmas day, go on Facebook, find pictures of them with their new girlfriends/wives/partners/ladyfriends and immediately come to the drunken conclusion that I am smarter, better looking, funnier, and more charming than all of them, slam my fist down on my desk as I deem them "Poor Man's Hannahs", sing "Beige Curtains" and then pass out naked on my bed after a Drunken Nog Tub. This is just my Christmas routine and it's nothing personal.